Forgotten
by Oliver's Cupcakes
Summary: Four seasons of betrayal have not been enough to make Matthew give up. Maybe he's naive, but he knows Gilbert won't leave him. /Past!Franada, past!RusCan, past!MapleTea and past!Japanada and finally some happy prucan. Oneshot :3


Forgotten

Ètè

He was amazing.

He cared, or at least acted like it. For those beautiful, warm three months, he was there for me. He laughed alongside me, comforted me when my dreams turned to nightmares, took care of me when I got that terrible summer cold, and we sat out in the countryside and dozed off under the stars like some cheesy movie. He petted my golden-blond hair and let me touch his own soft, cream-colored locks, so similar in texture and length to my own.

It seemed perfect, that summer love, quiet and warm and needing no words because there were none to describe it, for he was perfect and I was perfect to him and we were perfect together. I should have listened when they told me, I should have run while I still could. But how could I not trust him? Having known him so long? It seemed wrong to be suspicious, and I was naive back then. Maybe I still am. But logically it seemed right to trust him. When I went to America to visit my brother and heard Francis had been with Antonio, I called him, just to see if these lies they were feeding me were true. He simply told me that he'd forgotten.

осень

He was strong.

After the fallout with Francis, I was lost. Naive as I was, I never knew something like that could happen to me. I was lost in tears and drowned myself in wine for more than a month. Then he came. He comforted me with his cheerful yet sympathetic voice, so full of strength and yet so damageable. That was how I could relate to him; I was naive, and to me he seemed naive as well. Never cold or manipulative like the others said he was.

We often talked, just about anything; our siblings sometimes made interesting topics. The siblings in question didn't approve. "He'll hurt you," Alfred told me. "Your love is for me," Natalya ordered him. We never listened. He because he had no intention of giving in to his sister's wishes, and I because I did not believe Alfred. How could I? He saved me when I was at my breaking point. It seemed as perfect as the love between Francis and I for the longest time.

But then the weather grew cold. He hated the cold, the snow, the plain lack of warmth in his country and mine. Maybe he was naive in that retrospect. He put up with the cold ordinarily, but it was too much for him. And as it turned out.. He was trying to make Yao jealous. He'd forgotten about it for a while, during the end of that glorious autumn, but when the cold struck he remembered. And he left me, just as Francis had.

Winter

He was like me.

He understood, he truly understood the feeling of being left behind. In fact, he may have understood better than I do. He was left long ago by one whom he'd thought of as his brother, one he'd come to love as more than just a brother, and yet my own brother had abandoned him all those years ago. He had not been repeatedly left by those he had come to trust after a few months, but someone he had known almost as long as Francis had known me. We shared this, he and I.

The others often told me he was imperfect. That he yelled, and denied any emotion towards anyone, and that he was nothing more than an annoying, tea drinking, scone eating Brit. And sure, some of that was true in a sense. He was in denial for a while, and refused to show any public love for me, but he eventually gave in. He loved tea and scones as everyone said, but his tea wasn't all too terrible; in fact, I quite liked it. And with a little help, his scones were okay too. But he was imperfect; it seems everyone was in one way for another. He started talking to Alfred more, and me less. And one day he finally told me he had fallen in love with my brother again. I should have been happy for him, I really should of, and I tried to make it seem like I was. But I couldn't be. Another person on the list of people who left me was all he became.

春

He was different.

In short, he didn't practically force himself into my life like Francis, Ivan and Arthur had. He slowly started talking to me, and it seemed one day that spring, I suddenly realized he was there and that I loved him. We spent most of our time at his home; he constantly reminded me that the trees there looked beautiful this time of year, just be patient, just be patient. And I was. He did not make me feel naive like the others, and so I could wait for him.

That was another way he was different, he was more effeminate than Francis, Ivan, and Arthur, expecting me to be the more masculine of the two of us. It was a nice change. It wasn't always like that, of course. The nightmares, the ones that had existed since before Francis, still came. And he comforted me, held me close when I woke up in a cold sweat. He seemed the type to not like physical contact, especially in front of outsiders, but he was actually a very cuddly person behind closed doors.

And then the sakuras bloomed. Alfred and I used to call them cherry blossoms, and he still does, but they will always be sakuras to me. I remember sitting under them in the warm sun of spring, watching the light filter through the soft pink petals and cast a soft pink glow on everything. It continued late into the night; more and more couples and less and less partying friends. The silver moonlight splashed the ground, and spilled over the trees, pooling blue and pink over everyone. We fell asleep like that, under the Sakura trees.

Let me say in advance that I don't blame him. After everyone who has left me, I blame Kiku the least. He'd been abandoned before. Arthur had left him long ago, long before either of them loved me. He'd left his brother as he lost trust in him, Alfred had abandoned him too, and he felt just as naive and lost as I did. That's why I can't say I was surprised when I woke up alone with a small note written out and placed in my hand, littered with fallen petals. The note was simple.

II'm sorry, but this is the last night I'll be able to spend with you. I hope you understand, and I get the feeling that you will. I had forgotten how hard this would be.. 愛してる。/I

And that was it. I picked up and left with my heart in a hundred pieces, cast out on the ground and thinking they were useless bits that no one would ever again want.

Sommer

He is perfect.

There is no one I would have expected less to find those bits of my heart than him. He is arrogant, loud, and obnoxious, yes, but also handsome, has a way with words, comforting and warm-hearted. He seemed to both be way out of my league and not worth my time. And so I avoided him, avoided falling for him like I had the others. Before he was ever my love, he was my friend. He gathered up those little pieces, taped them together, and put them in his pocket for safekeeping until they were safe to expose to the elements again. And when I did realize I loved him, and finally got brave enough to tell him so, he was delighted. Maybe that's not quite the word to describe it. He seemed almost.. Relieved. That there was someone in this world who truly loved him, who wouldn't forget about him after one night, and leave him for someone else. I felt almost the same way. I'd been left four times in the last year, and I was reluctant to fall again. But he charmed me, convinced me he'd never leave. That was a reassurance I realize now that Francis, Ivan, Arthur and Kiku never gave me. And Gilbert gave me my heart back, still fragile but thanks to him able to stay strong on its own.

That summer was almost as perfect as he is. We laughed, ran around in the park like elementary schoolers, and went to the beach together. I spent the afternoons rubbing aloe on his sunburns, and he spent the nights running his fingers through my hair. It was the simple things we enjoyed, nothing big or all too significant, but each perfect in their own way. There were a lot of pancakes; he never seemed to tire of them no matter how hot it was outside. Francis tried to tell me that Gilbert would leave me, but how could I trust him when he'd done the same thing? And for once in my life, I was right. Gilbert stayed, he didn't leave me.

Now it's autumn again. The heat of the summer is leaving, draining from the sky; the leaves are turning gold and red like the ones Ivan and I sat beneath long ago. But this autumn didn't begin with wine-tinted tears, it began with a white haired individual complaining about the sudden lack of warmth and begging me for pancakes every morning. It began with him pointing out how my hair matched the leaves, and me saying that when the light reflected off of him, his did too. Soon there were colder days, rain, and grey skies, but he, my warmth and my sun, never left me. The summer seemed to carry on even when the season had ended. We dressed up in silly costumes on Halloween, and presented ourselves as a couple at the huge Thanksgiving banquet Alfred held at his house. At first he protested, and so did Francis and Arthur, even Kiku, but then they saw the expressions on our faces and I think they knew. They knew he'd never leave me and I'd never leave him.

Autumn ended with snuggly nights by the fireplace and insane shopping trips. Christmas came, and we bought ugly sweaters, scarves big enough to share, and the perfect gifts. To this day no one has been as perfect as Gilbert is to me. Even if they were, I'd have trouble leaving him. I still remember the others; when we visited Japan that spring, I saw the sakuras and was reminded of that last night. When I see the stars in the summer sky, I think of Francis, and the warmth he provided when I was naive enough to think he wouldn't leave. Sometimes we drink tea, and be it authentic or the microwave stuff Alfred makes, I think of the days I spent with Arthur at that table by the window. But I know those days are long over, all of them. And maybe I'm thankful for that. I'm thankful that after all this time, maybe soon the heartbreak of my past will be forgotten.


End file.
